


Honesty Hour

by RoseWritingUniverses



Series: Cannatonic [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, House Party, M/M, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 14:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWritingUniverses/pseuds/RoseWritingUniverses
Summary: It was safe to say that Stan didn’t expect to find a kindred spirit at the party, and he didn’t think Tweek did either. He wasn’t going to let this night go though, he’d worked too hard to help the guy already and they were on his bed. Neither of his best friends were there, but Tweek was, and they had a pretty significant thing in common.Stan is always the DD for Token and Clyde's parties, and always hides away when he feels overwhelmed. This time, he's not the only one.





	Honesty Hour

Token and Clyde threw the best parties, according to the minority of the high school’s population that was invited. Even if someone had a bad time and drank too much, Token always made sure they went home safely. They switched off houses but always co-hosted, meaning all of the variables remained the same. The same food, drinks, and energy were always there, but in high school, people's lives changed within days, so every experience was still a little different from the others. It’s what kept people coming back. 

Stan always had the same experience though, and was the only one to recognize this. For them, each time they went the same things always happened. Stan stayed sober, Kyle got drunk and let loose, and Kenny engaged in at least one sexual activity. (Cartman remained clueless about any and all of Token and Clyde’s parties, to the benefit of literally everyone.) Stan blamed people’s states of inebrium on their inability to realize that nothing about the parties ever changed. It was like the same night played on repeat. 

At the end of Junior year, the party kings decided to throw the biggest party of the year at Token’s house (bigger in that they added a little bit to everything). As part of the routine, Kyle and Kenny knocked at Stan’s front door at 8:45. He opened it and saw Kyle’s bashful smile and Kenny’s gleaming grin, each with a bottle of their preferred brand of alcohol. He nodded them inside, and they went straight to his kitchen, where the oven still smelled of weed and chocolate from earlier that day. 

“Where your folks at Stan?” Kenny asked before popping the cork of his bottle with his teeth. Stan thought that this had made his buck teeth worse, but it fit the guy. 

“They’re on a double date with another farming couple. I think they might be swingers but I don’t know,” he shrugged. Kenny let out a wolf whistle and Kyle squinted his eyes in judgment. 

“Do your parents… are they swingers now?” he asked. Stan stared at Kyle with an expression he hoped read  _ I don’t know, nor do I want to _ . It must have worked, because Kyle nodded and changed the subject. Stan sat on one of the bar stools at the island counter, taking in the supplies he raided from his parents liquor cabinet. With his dad’s drinking habits, he didn’t need to worry about them becoming suspicious. 

“How many people are going tonight?” Kyle asked. Stan did the math in his head. 

“A little over 200,” he said, and Kenny looked at him weird. 

“Did you see the invite list? Who’s coming?” Stan rolled his eyes. 

“If it’s the biggest party of the year, then they invited the upperclassmen and a few sophomores,” he explained. After each party he could walk into any of his classes and tell which of his peers had gone and which ones hadn’t. There was a lot to observe when you were one of the only sober people out of a couple hundred. 

Kenny deflated when Stan denied seeing an official invite list. Kyle knocked back a shot of plain vodka, and made the ugliest face of disgust right after. Amateur. Stan walked to the fridge and took out bottles of orange juice and soda, sliding a couple to his friends. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind being the DD Stan?” Kyle asked. Stan noticed Kenny look at his ginger friend from the corners of his eyes, a warning look on his face. It almost made him smile. Kyle asked this question every time, and Kenny was starting to worry that Stan would eventually get fed up with being the sober one. 

“I prefer it,” he said, and poured himself a cup of Coke. Kenny cheered and took an enthusiastic shot of whiskey, and Stan watched the liquid disappear. His next sip of soda tasted a little different. 

Stan wasn’t sure why his friends always wanted to pregame before going to parties. It wasn’t like Token and Clyde charged anything for the drinks. He wasn’t going to ask because he knew the question would come out negatively, and he didn’t want his friends to get the wrong idea. His only theory was that they wanted to get their bearings when they’re drunk, and trusted Stan to make sure they didn’t do anything embarrassing. 

He liked being able to do that for them. It was the only reason he did it for them. 

\-----------

Stan preferred parties at Token’s house because it was easier to breathe. There were spaces that didn’t have people constantly occupying them and when Stan trusted his friends not to do something stupid he liked going to those places. 

Currently, he was in the big space of the basement, sitting on one of the couches and watching Kyle and Kenny participate in a game of foosball against Kevin and Butters, with Jimmy doing commentary. He had a red cup of soda in his hand. 

A blur of blonde curls swept over his face and then his whole left side was warm, a head on his shoulder. 

“Hello to you too Bebe,” he smiled. She sighed and he chuckled. 

“What’s wrong?” he played into her game. She looked up at him from her place on his shoulder and pouted. 

“Wendy’s arguing with Token over changes to the student government by-laws,” she whined, and he nodded. That sounded about right. 

“Well I hardly think she could resist the temptation if you tried to distract her,” he said, “If I were you I’d stand a few feet behind Token and be as enticing as I could be. You wouldn’t have to do much to distract her, certainly,” he smiled. Bebe sighed again but in a much happier way. She wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“My knight in shining armor. Okay, let me go get my girlfriend back, have a nice night Stan!” she cheered, hopping up and sashaying away in the most seductive way she could. A few guys turned their heads to look. They looked like sophomores given how hopeful they looked. 

The music that played sounded like cacophonic garbage and the room smelled too much like sweaty teenagers. With a final look at Kyle and Kenny, Stan decided that he could take a few minutes to leave and breathe. He walked down the hall to a bedroom that was open and shut the door behind him. The physical sensation of the music’s bass rhythm couldn’t reach his chest anymore, and that was good. He felt it at the bottom of his feet, and so he sat on the bed, pulling his legs up. 

Stan slowly lied down, working and stretching the muscles in his back until it hit the soft comforter. He relaxed and focused on his breathing. He tensed his muscles going up his arm to his shoulder, down his back and core, down his thighs, calves… ankles… feet… toes… and back up again. He reached his finger tips, and he touched them softly to the fabric underneath him, felt for the fibers that made it up. He started tensing his muscles again, held them for seconds at a time.

“No one’s here to hurt you buddy,” he whispered. He imagined his anxiety as a small lizard-type creature, one that just needed comfort and reassurance, a friend to keep it going. The more he thought helpful thoughts directed at it, the more the creature soaked back up the negative energy that flowed in Stan’s bloodstream. 

(This only worked about half the time, for him. Thank fuck for medication.) 

An electric shock went through him as the door to the bedroom opened and someone rushed in, just to go to the bathroom attached to it. This person made noises like an upset guinea pig as they ran. Stan sat up on the bed and stared wide-eyed at the blond boy now dry heaving into the toilet. It was Tweek Tweak. 

The blond wasn’t as twitchy and paranoid as he was when he was younger but the anxiety problems remained. Stan personally suspected panic disorder as well, which he knew had to absolutely suck. He saw him often at these parties since he’s part of Token and Clyde’s group of friends, which confused him at first. Then he saw how Tweek was able to handle himself, getting high with Craig and some of the stoners in the backyard. Sometimes Stan wondered if he helped to grow the weed they were smoking, if the label on bag had his dad’s brand on it. 

Frozen, Stan just watched and listened to the awful sound of his friend trying and failing to throw up. It took a truly awful retch that almost made  _ him _ gag to get up. It wasn’t a movement of help, it was like a prey animal jumping away from danger. The noise hit Stan’s bones and scared the lizard creature in his brain, forcing him to address the situation. He stared at Tweek for another moment before coming up with something to say. 

“Tweek?” he called softly. The blond boy jumped and froze, then looked up at Stan, anxiety plainly written on his pretty face. Stan felt shitty for being there, even if he was in the room first. Vulnerable moments like this sucked, and no one wanted to have an audience. 

_ ‘Better me than someone else, though,’  _ Stan thought. At least he knew what was happening, at least he knew how to help, and he definitely knew this was nobody else’s business. He lifted his hands, palms up and facing his friend and took a step forward. 

“I’m not here to mess with you or make things worse, I’m not going to tell somebody about this, I just know that you don’t feel well and I’ve been there. I might be able to help you if you’d like me to,” he said. Tweek was shaking, and when he nodded it was hard to discern the movement as intentional. Stan sat down on the floor facing his classmate.

“Do you have a method for calming yourself down?” Tweek nodded and tried to speak. Nothing coherent came out. “You’re too agitated to tell me what it is.” Tweek nodded again. 

Stan pulled out his phone and pulled up his messenger app. He texted his own number and searched for the gifs he knew would help. He sent it, and then tapped on it. 

“Have you seen this before?” The one with the shapes was his favorite, the one that made the most sense to him. Follow the dot, the line, the triangle, the square, and forward, follow the movements. Tweek nodded, which Stan expected. 

“You know how to follow it?” Tweek nodded again, and Stan saw him already start to breathe along with it. He handed the boy his phone, their fingers touched for half a second. Stan looked over Tweek’s figure and noticed that he didn’t have his backpack with him. The kid always had it on him. 

“Do you have medication in your backpack?” Stan asked, Tweek confirmed. 

“Is your backpack here at the house?” Another nod. 

“Is there someone who knows where it is so I can ask them to get it?” Tweek’s breathing hitched and Stan strained his ears to hear whatever he had to say. 

“Token. His room,” he huffed out. Stan nodded, and hoped the kid had enough in him to verbally answer his next question. 

“Is it okay if I leave here to get him, or do you want me to text him?” Tweek held up one finger and Stan nodded. He reassured Tweek that he would be right back and let him keep his phone to look at the breathing gif. He left the bathroom door open but closed the bedroom door behind him. 

Token and Clyde stationed themselves in the living room, kitchen, foyer, or by the stairs, so Stan knew where to check for them. That at least was helpful since there were about two hundred other bodies to ignore. The closest place was the stairs, and only Clyde was there. Stan moved forward and scanned the living room. Nothing, although he did see Kyle flirting with a girl he couldn’t quite see. He assumed Kenny was already passed the point of flirting, and even if he wasn’t he didn’t bother looking for him. 

Stan saw Token in the kitchen talking with his girlfriend, and Stan almost felt bad for interrupting. But this wasn’t for him, this was for Token’s friend. He didn’t hesitate to walk up and tap his classmate on the shoulder. Token blinked, and a brief expression of annoyance was quickly replaced with concern. Maybe Stan looked the way he felt. 

“Tweek needs his backpack, can you take me to where it is please?” His voice didn’t sound right for a question but he wasn’t really trying to be polite. Thankfully, Token read between the lines and jumped into action. Stan followed him up the stairs (with a brief greeting to Clyde) and toward Token’s bedroom. 

“Where is he?” Token asked, using the same tone that Stan used. 

“Downstairs, middle bedroom. I was there already when he came in. Went straight to the bathroom and started dry-heaving. I pulled up something to help him breathe on my phone.” Token nodded as he unlocked his bedroom door. The room was immaculate, which Stan expected, and mature. Token went straight for his closet, which was shut closed. 

“Why were you in there, if you don’t mind me asking?” Stan hesitated to answer the question, it wasn’t really Token’s business. 

“I was just using the bathroom,” he said. Token didn’t react much, but he did look at Stan a little differently. He pulled Tweek’s ratty backpack out and handed it to him. 

“I keep the rooms open for extra bathroom options, well, that and I would rather people hook up there than any bedrooms up here,” he explained. Stan smiled. 

“That makes sense,” Stan said. Token returned the friendly smile and clapped Stan on his back. Then Stan remembered the urgency of the situation. 

“Thanks for your help, I’m gonna run downstairs now,” he said, and Token gestured him to the door. Stan didn’t like moving too fast down the stairs but he also hated the idea of making someone in the middle of a panic attack wait for help. 

Stan knocked on the bathroom door even though it was open since Tweek seemed to be fixated on Stan’s phone. The sound startled him, which Stan was afraid of. 

“I have your bag,” he said softly, walking toward the blond boy with the bag held out. Tweek shakily grabbed it and dropped it on the floor. Stan watched him open up the front pocket and pulled out an orange prescription bottle. The kid froze. 

“Oh, God!” The freezing gave way to shaking and wide(r than normal) eyes. The bottle in his hand shook and Stan understood the reaction. 

“Do you have any that hide here? An emergency stash?” Tweek let out a strangled shriek that Stan took as a no. He racked his brain for a solution. 

“I can take you home if you want. I really don’t mind, I don’t want to really be here anyway,” he offered. Tweek shook his head. 

“Going home makes it worse,” he whimpered. Stan’s heart broke for his friend as he reflected on why his own home wasn’t the best place for him. 

“Do you want me to get Token again, and you can go upstairs?” Tweek was one of Token’s closest friends, they might have a routine for this. 

“I can feel the house vibrating, I can hear everything, I need to leave. But I don’t know where to go,” Tweek said, and Stan saw his eyes shining with tears. 

“I can take you to mine? There’s some medicinal stuff we have in edibles. I take it sometimes,” he muttered the last part. He didn’t really like that he took it, but it was better than nothing when he was overwhelmed. 

Tweek seemed to actually contemplate this option, and then he nodded. 

As it turned out, Clyde was excellent in knowing where his party patrons were, and at gauging how drunk they were. He promised Stan that he would look after Kenny and Kyle, even though Kenny had a tendency to slip into the shadows without notice. Stan was fine with that since Kenny had an indestructible aura to him, and Kyle had some semblance of order even when he was plastered. Clyde smiled gently at Tweek and wished him an easy rest of the night as they left. Tweek nodded, and that’s all that he seemed able to do, Stan thought. He kept his hand on Tweek’s back because he thought the contact might be stabilizing as they left the booming house and entered the outside world. 

Tweek asked if Stan was okay with the window being rolled down as they drove in the dark, and Stan wordlessly pressed the button to his left. Fresh air was good. He told Tweek that he could do whatever would make him most comfortable on the ride to his house, since he had no idea how Tweek’s anxiety worked. Everyone was different. Every few minutes he stole glances at the blond boy, ignored his heart’s response to seeing Tweek’s sharp jawline highlighted by the moonlight. 

When Stan pulled onto the dirt road that led to his driveway, he noticed that Tweek tensed a little bit. He didn’t ask any questions about Stan’s parents or what was about to happen so Stan tried to fill in a few blanks, speaking under his breath. Tweek didn’t seem to relax at all though, so he figured it was just a matter of feeling it out. 

He turned onto the driveway and eyed the front of his house. It used to freak him out when he was at home alone at night, in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by fields people could hide in. Now, the isolation was calming and grounding. So much of the drama of South Park could be avoided here, or the delivery could at least be delayed. It even inhibited his father from being too involved (read: the center/instigator of) with the chaos. The only downside was that he couldn’t just walk to Kyle’s house to hang out, or get anywhere within ten minutes. 

Stan focused on the sound of gravel crunching under his truck’s weight as he set it to park and pulled the emergency brake back. He unbuckled and turned the engine off, the doors automatically unlocking. With a pull of his keys he was out, and looking at Tweek who remained in his seat. The blond boy was looking at the house, and Stan stared at the back of his head. 

“You can get out right?” he asked. This startled Tweek, who turned his head to look at Stan, and then the guy nodded and undid his seatbelt. Stan noticed his hands shaking as he pulled on the door handle, and made his way around the front of the car to get next to his friend. The guy slowly made his way out of the truck and refused to meet Stan’s eyes, but it didn’t seem like it was out of panic, it seemed more deliberate. 

“I promise we’re fine out here, all the valuable stuff is outside the house,” Stan said. Tweek nodded but Stan felt like that didn’t help any. He curled his lips in, forming a thin line as he thought about his next move. It was probably best for them to walk inside anyway, let Tweek sit down somewhere. 

He ushered Tweek into his home the same way he ushered him out of Token’s, a hand ghosting the middle of his back. He turned the lights on immediately to potentially ease his friend’s mind, and went straight to the kitchen. 

“Do you want some water?” He asked without looking behind him. He got out a glass for himself anyway. 

“Yes, please,” Tweek’s small voice said. Stan nodded and got the second glass. Although he normally drank water from the tap, he got out his mother’s filtered water pitcher since maybe Tweek had a problem with tap water. There was at least one government-related conspiracy theory on tap water, right? He poured it into both glasses and put the pitcher back in the fridge without refilling it at all (there was enough in there). 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked Tweek as he slid the glass across the kitchen island. Tweek nodded, but that still didn’t tell Stan much of anything. He racked his brain to think of why Tweek was suddenly withdrawing from him. It didn’t start until they reached the farm. 

“You obviously don’t have to have any edibles or whatever if you don’t want to. I’ve seen you smoking at the parties before so I figured it might help,” Stan offered, because it was the only thing he could think of that might have Tweek worried. He’d made it this far with him and he wasn’t about to give up the effort now. He sipped at his water as he studied his friend. 

“I couldn’t tonight. Someone new brought the joints and they didn’t even know what kind it was. I’ve had bad experiences before, so now I’m… picky,” Tweek muttered, picking at his cuticles as he spoke. 

“I guess it goes without saying that we have a pretty wide selection of strains. We’ve got a lot that are more CBD than THC. The only one that really works for me is Cannatonic,” he admitted. As far as his friends knew, he only smoked pot every once in a while, and only with them. He didn’t want them to know that he craved its effects sometimes, that he gave into his craving (because it was  _ prescribed _ ). 

Tweek actually perked up on his last word, and Stan stood up straighter in response. He took one last gulp of water before setting the glass in the sink. 

“You have Cannatonic?” Tweek checked, and Stan nodded. 

“That’s the only strain I keep in my own stash. Joints, blunts, edibles, however you want it I can give it to you,” he answered, and didn’t think much of the way Tweek blushed after he said that. Without waiting another moment (he didn’t want to lose this feeling of success) he grabbed Tweek’s hand and started walking down the hall to his room. 

“How do you normally… consume it?” Tweek asked as Stan opened his door. Stan didn’t look back, only went for the locked chest under his desk. 

“Edibles. I was diagnosed with asthma when I was younger, and even though I haven’t had issues with it in years I don’t want to aggravate it,” Stan said. He’d never talked about this before, never felt comfortable talking about this part of his life with anyone, even Kyle, but he spilled it to Tweek without a second thought. 

Stan walked back to Tweek with a brownie covered in plastic wrap. He uncovered it, and was delighted as he could tell it was still warm, just very slightly so. 

“It’s fresh, I promise. I baked it today,” he said, almost giddy to share with someone for once. He tore off a corner for Tweek and after a moment of hesitation, a corner for himself. Tweek didn’t eat his until Stan put the bite of his own in his mouth, confirming Stan’s reason for taking any. 

As the taste of weed settled into his mouth, the guilt for Stan started to set in. He’d just had some even though he wasn’t anxious or panicking or anything. Most of the time he took it he had to coax himself into doing it, and this time he barely gave it a thought. The acknowledgement of this fact made him feel a little nauseous, and want to expel the substance from his body. He wasn’t even the one upset and he just took some…

“-Stan?” Tweek’s voice startled him this time. Stan looked up and blinked at Tweek. The two of them were standing less than a foot apart. 

“You’re looking like you want to throw up,” Tweek whispered, and Stan shook his head. 

“I’m fine. I just don’t do this often and when I do I’m usually in a different state of mind,” he explained, which wasn’t a lie. He wrapped the rest of the brownie up and put it back in the chest. He backed up against the furthest wall into his bedroom and slid down it until he was sitting. He invited Tweek to do the same, and the kid took his time deciding on a spot before choosing to be right next to Stan. They could feel each other’s body heat, Stan thought it was electric in nature.

The downside of edibles was that it took a little longer to hit. Personally, Stan could handle that because they also lasted longer, and he could sleep really well with it when he took it at night. He really didn’t want to deal with the way the smoke affected his throat and lungs, which he didn’t share with Kyle and Kenny. He reflected on why he didn’t tell them about this part of his life, because he knew they wouldn’t  _ judge _ him. The thoughts floated through with less force as the chemicals of the drug really kicked in, and eventually he forgot what he was thinking about, or how he got to this point. Stan was high. 

For a moment, Stan felt… nice. He was nearly content with the way things were for the moment, a feeling that he rarely experienced anymore. With all the willpower he had he tried to push everything else away and focus only on the warm feeling he felt from his insides and from the body next to his. For the time being, he didn’t have anything to do or say or even think about. For the time being, he didn’t have to take care of his friends or help his dad with the farm or his mother with cooking. For the time being, he was free. And for a moment, he actually believed it. 

Something poked his arm. He opened one eye that he hadn’t realized was closed. Tweek was looking at him and the moonlight peering through his blinds gave him stripes.  _ ‘Moonlight stripes’  _ he thought, a smile growing on his face. 

“Stan,” Tweek whispered, “can we sit on your bed? Your floor is really… hard,” he said. Stan laughed at that, an easy smile on his face that he couldn’t get rid of. 

“Yeah, dude, we can absolutely do that,” he answered, although he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage getting up and moving all the way to his bed. That was a lot of muscle movement for him. He blinked, and then he made himself get up. Tweek was faster than he was, maybe it hadn’t set in for him yet. 

Eventually he made it to his bed and sat with his back to the wall, right next to Tweek. He hummed for a few seconds before becoming quiet again. His eyes were closed.

“Thank you,” he heard Tweek whisper. Stan didn’t know why he felt the need to whisper, they were the only ones in the house. 

“It’s no problem,” Stan replied. He could feel his friend fidgeting still. 

“I’m sorry I made you leave the party. I didn’t even know you were in the room when I ran in,” Tweek said a bit fast. Stan shrugged. 

“I didn’t want to be there anyway. I don’t like parties, I just go for my friends. It’s easier to think and breathe when the building you’re in isn’t shaking from the music blasting,” Stan explained, his eyes still closed. 

“So you  _ do _ have anxiety,” Tweek muttered, more to himself than Stan, but the noiret responded anyway. 

“It’s more depression than anxiety. I didn’t get anxious until after I was shot in fourth grade. My parents were focused on starting the farm so they kind of ignored it for a while. Eventually my dad saw it as a perfect opportunity to start growing medicinal marijuana, so I have a stupid prescription for it.” The words slipped out of his mouth with no resistance, like they’ve been waiting to come out for a long time. He let them. This felt nice, chill. (This was also the first time he’d taken his prescription with another person around.)

“You  _ don’t _ want a prescription for weed?” Stan chuckled at the confusion. It was expected. What teenager doesn’t want a valid reason to use drugs?

“I don’t like anything that’s addictive. I don’t even drink coffee,” he said. Kyle and Kenny used to make fun of him for drinking tea instead of coffee, but then they stopped when they realized he was upset. 

“That’s… really cool. Do you… do you mind telling me why?” Tweek sounded so much calmer, Stan realized, and that was good. Stan did good, getting Tweek to calm down. And now he was opening up for the first time in who knows how long. 

“I’m not going to become my father.” Those words didn’t carry the same tone as the ones he spoke before. He didn’t mean to say it like that. Stan opened his eyes and looked at Tweek, who was staring back at him in surprise. 

“He has an addictive personality. He’s fucked up the lives of everyone in the family. The only reason I started taking this in the first place is because he wouldn’t let me get on regular antidepressants,” he said, and he was starting to regret speaking. He did not mean to open up this far, to someone he barely talked to, but for some reason he couldn’t pin down he couldn’t stop.

But Tweek nodded along. 

“Once, I had a really bad panic attack while I was sweeping the coffee shop, in front of the counter. My dad picked me up and took me to the backroom. I thought he was trying to help me, but he said that he didn’t want me to scare away customers.” The weight of those words hit Stan in his chest and settled there. It squeezed his heart.

“Wow.” 

It was safe to say that Stan didn’t expect to find a kindred spirit at the party, and he didn’t think Tweek did either. He wasn’t going to let this night go though, he’d worked too hard to help the guy already and they were on his bed. Neither of his best friends were there, but Tweek was, and they had a pretty significant thing in common. 

“Stan?” Tweek whispered. Stan whipped his head to look at him. Tweek was still staring at the wall. He was worrying his bottom lip and Stan noticed that his fingers were twitching when they weren’t before. He began to worry that the Cannatonic wasn’t working for Tweek the way it should.

“Yeah, Tweek?” His voice came out with the same softness it did an hour or so ago in the bathroom.  _ ‘Please don’t have another attack, I’m too high for that.’ _

“Are you straight?”  _ ‘What?’ _

“What?” Tweek had a whole body spasm and got to his knees.

“I’m sorry! I was just wondering since you haven’t dated anyone since Wendy in middle school and I was just curious because… oh well because I-” Stan cut him off. 

“Whoa, hey, I just wasn’t expecting the question, you don’t need to apologize. Honestly I uh… I try not to think about that part of my life. But no, I’m not straight. I’m pretty sure I’m gay, but I don’t know.” So apparently this was honesty hour and Stan was using this poor boy as a vessel to store his secrets. Super chill. 

“What do you mean you  _ don’t know _ ?” At least Tweek had stopped playing with his fingers. Stan was about to start.

“Well I said that I try not to think about it. I realize that I’m attracted to guys but the idea of confronting it and talking about it with other people and pursuing a relationship, all of that is terrifying so I just don’t think about it.” He wished he’d been able to come to terms with his sexuality in the fourth grade, after Craig and Tweek paved the way, but he couldn’t understand why he felt different at the time. For a while he thought it was just a depression thing. 

“But… but what if… what if…” and then Tweek trailed off and held his breath. His eyes were so big, they always were, but it looked extra special in the low light. 

“Tweek?”

“What if somebody  _ likes _ you. Like a guy. What if a guy at our school  _ likes _ you? Would you think about it then?” Stan felt something in his chest that he didn’t want to recognize as hope.“What do you mean?” He realized that Tweek was still standing on his knees, and he was looking up at him. And the moonlight was tracing his jawline again. 

“I mean… sometime last year I realized that I might have a preference… for tall guys with black hair,” Tweek whispered. Stan felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“Really?” he whispered. Tweek nodded. Stan stared at him until he realized Tweek’s hands were shaking again. 

“Oh! Um,” he sucked in a deep breath, “I’ve always thought of you as very pretty, and nice. So… yeah,” he exhaled. Another staring contest. 

And then they were kissing. Stan didn’t care who started it, but he  _ did _ care about the softness of Tweek’s blond locks in his hands, and the weight of his body on top of his as he fell onto his back. He hadn’t experienced this since eighth grade with Wendy and he felt very out of practice, but kissing was almost like second nature. Tweek’s lips were chapped and bitten and Stan didn’t mind in the least. 

A minute later, they pulled back from each other and tried to control their breathing. Stan tentatively wrapped his arm around Tweek’s torso to keep him close, and kept one hand on his cheek. Tweek’s hands were on Stan’s chest and he worried that the blond boy could tell his heart was about to beat out of his chest. 

“I don’t expect to do anything more than what we just did, but do you wanna spend the night?” Stan asked. Tweek bit his lip and nodded. 

It was three in the morning and Stan was watching a beautiful blond boy sleep beside him, in one of his own shirts. He felt warm and happy and a little buzzed from something that wasn’t pot. He looked at the way his old t-shirt hung on Tweek and fell off his shoulder just so. Tweek was facing the door, Stan behind him. He gave into his urges to snuggle closer and spoon him. There were a few sleepy murmurs, and then a return to an even, deep breathing pattern. 

For the first time, Stan experienced something new at a party. He was even in such a state to feel grateful for the loud, crowded house to push him and Tweek together. It was by far the best party he’d ever been to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review/comment/whatever!
> 
> This is part of a series! I don't know how long the series will be, but I know what the next one will be!


End file.
